


Legends of the Darksaber

by Saberteller



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 07:37:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9426959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saberteller/pseuds/Saberteller
Summary: The Republic has begun to break, as the Sith's Brotherhood continue to ravage the galaxy. The Jedi are pressed further and further, dying or turning to the Dark Side. And amidst all this and more, a runaway Mandalorian known as Tar Vizsla has been discovered to be Force sensitive. He will join the Jedi Order, struggle with his duality, fight to remain himself in a galaxy that wants to change him for its own ends, and find redemption with his family. He will carve his legend with light made black.





	1. Prologue

Project Mandalore  
Okay, I done fucked up. I watched that Star Wars Rebels TV trailer showing the basic history of the Darksaber, and I was like: hmmm. After writing a scene to a fellow lover of the Star Wars Universe, here I am. Letting my imagination literally get the better of me. The story that follows is of Tar Vizsla, the first Mandalorian Jedi. I had the idea of his journeys, of the Jedi who taught him. And, having a rough knowledge—I think—of the timeline, the idea was to have him alive during the war between the Jedi and the Sith’s Brotherhood of Darkness. I wanted to have him and his master fight beside each other during Lord Hoth’s liberation of the Outer Rim, and to have him be something more than just a simple badass. More like a character who was also a great warrior, rarely than solely the latter. To this end, he will struggle with his clan and family members, love his master Morla Akeena, and have to wrestle with his nature of duality of Jedi and Mandalorian.   
All rights belong to Disney and LucasArts, I make a claim on none of this, save for the characters and scenes I create with the stories they’ve made.  
This first chapter is something off the top of my head that will begin the story of Tar as I envisioned him. At the very fucking best, like, a number so negative that even 3PO thinks it’s unnecessarily pessimistic, I may gain attention from Disney. At worst, well, at least I’ll get this idea out of my head. Let’s begin, shall we?


	2. Pride Leads to The Fall

Tar ran through the woods, his practical machine of a body working overtime as he moved to escape his pursuer. He ignored the throbbing pain in his right hand from the deflected blaster bolt, the reason why he was weaponless now. Due to his current situation, he had had to ditch his malfunctioning jetpack, allowing for greater speed despite his heavy armor.  
Above, twin moons, grey clouds, and the stars of the galaxy were embedded into a black sky. The ground around him was uneven, rough, and potentially dangerous in some areas. Howls of predators, the flight of grouped birds, and the chill wind of the world were the setting of the stage this night.  
The spiced scent of these woods, combined with that of his sweat, was somewhat invigorating. For a shameful, nostalgic moment, he remembered who he had once been. Then his father’s hammer-like words, which had practically been worth the weight of a dreadnought in his youth, echoed in his mind.  
To fight, is to grow. To grow, is to live. Remember our way, my son. The way of Mandalore.  
He felt a flash of shame, imagining his father’s disappointed look to see him fleeing from an enemy.   
But he had no choice, he repeated to himself as the invigoration died. He couldn’t let them find him, make him one of them. They would not have him, ever. Tar may not be able to count himself amidst the prouder ranks of his people, but he was still Mandalorian.  
Yet, as he suddenly burst through the foliage and onto a grassy cliff that dropped for hundreds of standard meters, he remembered he was not invincible.  
Tar turned, desperately looking for a way out, when his quarry emerged like a silent ghost from the woods.  
Dressed in a brown robe and white clothing of the Order, his pursuer revealed herself as Jedi Master Morla Akeena of the High Council. Her long, blonde hair had been done up in small tails draped over her cheeks. She had luminous green eyes, fair skin, and lips that seemed to be drawn into a permanently sad smile. She was slightly shorter than him, and gracefully slight of build.   
She unclipped and activated the lightsaber that hung at her side. A green blade hummed to life, causing Tar to take cautious step backwards.  
“Why do you flee?” she asked, her voice soft and genuinely curious.  
He didn’t answer, thinking over his options. If he could get behind her, make it back into the woods, he might be able to find another way to escape. Combat wasn’t an option, he had already tried that. And here he was, defenseless save for… no, better to throw himself off the cliff than to do that.  
“Please, don’t run,” she said, nearly causing him to jump. “You won’t escape, and all I want for now is to talk.”  
“For now?” he asked her, his voice sounding slightly robotic through his T-visor helm. “What are you after, Jedi?”  
“If the truth will bring you comfort, than you are the answer,” she replied. “I’ve heard the rumours, of a Mandalorian exile with special talents. I wanted to know if they were true.”  
“Do I look like I can use the Force?” he asked, forcing sarcasm into his words.  
She snorted softly. “Every being has the potential to be Force-sensitive, Mandalorian. Every one.” She sighed, and deactivated her weapon.   
Now!  
He ran forwards, using all of his strength. His intent was to crash into her, and retreat back into the forest while she recovered. But her hand snapped up faster than a blaster bolt, and he was seized in an invisible grip. His arms were pinned to his sides, and he was lifted off the ground. He struggled futilely against his invisible restraints, cursing rather colorfully under his breath.  
“Enough,” she said in a durasteel clad tone. “I am here to discover if you are truly strong with the Force. If you would allow me to perform a series of tests, I can discover whether or not this is true.”  
Furious and—slightly embarrassed at how easily his escape attempt was foiled—he snarled at the Jedi. “And if I’m not?”  
“I’ll let you go,” the way she said it, kind and formal, made him believe her.  
He was doomed, he realized. She would find out what he was, and then they would take him away to their temple. Make him one of them. An emotionless husk, more machine than man. He would not let himself became that, he would not!  
As if responding to his emotions, a branch from a nearby tree tore itself off from its trunk. The mass of wood, twice the length of her arm, spun through the air towards the Jedi. But she once again demonstrated her speed.  
She released him, and spun to face the object that had seemingly answered his call. Both of her hands were raised, and the piece of wood disassembled into hundreds of slivers, which halted midair before dropping down to the grass.  
Before she could turn to hold him again, he ran towards and jumped off the cliff.  
As he plummeted towards the forests below, he reflected with a relatively clear mind. Quite the contrary to his previous state, he was now completely free of shame and terror. He had the Force. That much had been evident to him when he had snuck aboard that shuttle leaving Mandalore for Sullust.   
Now, he would die on his own terms. He would not be Jedi, but he would not be remembered as Mandalorian.  
We live to die, we fight to be remembered.  
An old proverb. One that he had failed.  
But as he closed his eyes, a voice screamed in his ear, “Hold on to me!”  
His eyes snapped open, and he stared in awe as Master Akeena fell through the air beside him. She had spread her body out, to slightly slow the speed of her descent. A posture he had instinctively adopted as well.  
“Hold on to me, now!” she shouted at him. “Please, just trust me.”  
Something about the surprise, about the realization of what she had just done for him, made him trust her. He adjust so that he was above her, and wrapped his arms around her. She tapped on something bright wrapped around her wrist, a holo-comm.   
Then a small ship, sleek and white and red, with bright blue engines shot down beside them. It angled itself so that its nose was facing downwards, and a rear panelled open to expose an entrance into the vessel’s interior.  
She then positioned herself forwards, and something invisible forced him to do the same. Thrusting through the air, they eventually crashed into the interior of the ship, which then angled itself upwards at a rapid pace. He was thrown through the hall of the vehicle, bouncing off of walls and floor before it finally levelled itself.   
Then he breathed a sigh of relief, before a rough hand lifted him up by his throat and slammed him against the wall.  
“Just what do you think you were doing?” the beast of a man roared.  
As Tar regained his senses, he studied the large man pinning him to the wall. Mostly grey hair on the verge of white, done up in tail, with a thick mustache and tanned, weathered features, with ornate battle armor and brown cloak, he realized what he was when he saw the lightsaber hanging at his side.  
“You’re a Jedi,” he managed to choke out, not bothering to make an attempt liberate himself.  
“Beo, enough,” the tired voice of Master Akeena said. “Let him down.”  
With a dissatisfied growl, the Jedi unceremoniously dropped him to the floor of the ship, before stalking away around a corner.  
“Forgive my handler,” she said as she helped him up. “Beo is a good man, but can be fiercely protective of those he cares about.”  
After regaining his breath through pants and choked coughs, he said, “Handler? But my sources said you were on the Jedi High Council.”  
“I am,” she replied, guiding him towards a seat which he happily plopped himself down on. “But ever since the Jedi Lords became more and more pressed by the Brotherhood, they’ve been forced to become more cautious. Beo is one of Lord Hoth’s precautions.”  
“Hoth?” he questioned, regaining his breath and standing back up. “The Battlemaster and Jedi Lord?”  
Her eyes looked somewhat… distant for a moment, before her cool composure returned. “Yes, the lord.” She gestured towards an open doorway in the ship. “Come, we must talk.”  
Normally, if he had been captured and brought aboard a Jedi ship, he would’ve looked for a way to escape. This vessel, a Coruscantian Light Freighter, X35-T Lance Model, lightly armored and armed with ZR-13 Repeater Canons. Primary white and secondary crimson colouring. Long, narrow, wide enough for a crew of at least seven.  
Normally, being aboard a Lance would’ve been the end. The bio domes and sphere back on Mandalore may not have been home, but he still considered himself Mandalorian. And it was the Jedi who had made the majority of his home uninhabitable. If any Jedi set foot on their world again, they would lose the foot.  
But actions spoke louder than words, and this Master had practically screamed what she was. Brave to the point of foolishness, and bold to make such a risky action. And more than that, she had saved his life when there had been nothing to gain from it. He… supposed he should give her a chance.  
Despite what she was.  
He followed her into a small meeting room. The white panelled walls curved into smooth edges at the corners of the room, with lines of blue lights place within the lines between said panels. A table, rectangular, smooth, with at least nine chairs surrounding it. Master Akeena gently sat herself down onto the one at its head, and looked up at him expectantly.  
“Sit,” she said, gesturing to the chair across the surface.   
Instinctively, he reached out with his sense to examine the room. The place had been kept tidy and clean, the smell of a sweet freshener permeating the air. The low, gentle hum of the ship’s engines was a somewhat relaxing constant, and the low buzz of conversation coming from elsewhere within the vessel indicated that it was not just them and the gruff Jedi that were aboard this Lance.  
He sat where she had gestured, and respectfully removed his helm. It exposed long, mangled blond hair, which had been dirtied from sleeping in forests and on beaches without the opportunity for cleaning. It also revealed slightly hairy sharp, angular features, and oddly black eyes.  
“What is your name?” she asked formally.  
“Tar Vizsla,” he answered, meeting her unyielding stare with his own.  
She rested her elbows on the surface of the table, and folded her fingers together beneath her chin as she stared at him. “Do you know what you are?”  
“A Force sensitive,” he said bitterly, making it sound like he was plagued by an incurable disease.  
“Is that such a terrible thing?” she questioned. “The Force is a powerful ally, and it is all. It flows through us, binds us, it is life itself.”  
His eyes narrowed. “Did it tell you Jedi to turn my planet into a wasteland?”  
“No, but politicians and perhaps bitter Council members did. I hope you will not let the arrogant, idiotic, and cowardly decisions of them reflect on me and my offer.”  
“You want to train me as one you,” he said, already knowing what she would ask.  
She nodded. “Can you blame me? You are a Mandalorian, Tar Vizsla. A member of the warrior people who have proven more than a worthy adversary for both Jedi and Sith on many occasions. And now, with Lord Kaan’s Brotherhood continuing to press a fracturing Republic, we need all the Jedi we can muster. To put it bluntly, we need you. But only once you are ready.”  
He snorted. “And who would determine that I am ready?”  
“I would,” she answered. “The other Council members are either too busy working with the Lords of the Jedi, or are too old and conservative to want to train you for who you are. Grand Master Arga Toran has been training and protecting the younglings of the Order, and the other Masters are too busy with the war. I am your only option, should you take my offer.”  
“And what makes you think I’m of any use to peacekeepers?” he questioned dryly. “I’m of a people of ‘nothing but warmongering savages, sadistic and crave blood on an almost animalistic level’, as one your fellow Councillors stated.”  
She made a disgusted sound. “Master Raino Lormat is on the Council, but only due to his tactical and political acumen. He would never have claimed a seat, were it not for our currently desperate circumstances.”  
“You didn’t answer my other question,” he pointed out.  
She smiled. “Tar, if you were as Lormat described, I would’ve arrested you as soon as I could. I would’ve taken you back to the Jedi Temple, and let a harsh jury decide your inevitably fatal fate.”  
“What stopped you?” he asked, maintaining his cool composure.  
Her smile widened. “I wanted to observe you, and your little crime spree. How about those children you saved from factory work on Sullust? The crashed survivors you let use your long range communications devices on the Forest Moon of Endor, when you were looking for salvage? And let us not forget, breaking an entire holding cell free of slaves when you robbed a lesser Hutt blind.”  
Tar looked away, fighting to prevent the heat from rushing to his cheeks.   
“You did what you had to do to survive,” she said kindly. “But you didn’t become callous or merciless when doing so. You acted honourably, even kindly, in your travels.”  
He said nothing, nor returned his gaze to the Jedi Master.  
“Let me make my offer then,” she said, her smile fading. “I will train you in the Jedi ways. You will accompany me as my padawan learner, and I will teach you the ways of the Force. I will teach you about the Jedi Code, our history, how to control your power, and guide in the construction of your own lightsaber. When you reach knighthood—a process that has been accelerated due to our struggle—you will still be placed under my care as we battle the Sith.  
“And if we win the war, I’ll let you go. You can choose whatever path you wish at the time. Stay with the Order, or return to your people, or whatever fate you seek to burden. You will have more than earned the right by the time we are done. That is my offer, Tar Vizsla.”  
“And if I refuse?” he asked softly.  
Her voice turned emotionless. “I will not have the risk of the Sith finding and twisting you to their machinations and designs for conquest. I will turn you over to a Judicial Court, and leave you in a cell watched by Jedi to rot until the war is done.”   
He leaned back in his seat, and eyed Master Akeena. She had been honest, something which he admired. And despite his desire not to join with her Order, he had always admired them for holding to their code. However foolish that it may be. Mother would’ve loved her.  
The offer was becoming tempting. Not simply because it was the most beneficial option for him, but because he was beginning to believe he could trust this woman. He detected no trace of dishonesty in her words, and thus permitting him to leave the Order upon the war’s conclusion? Yes, this deal would suit him just fine.  
“I accept your offer,” he said, rising.   
She smiled lightly. “Then your training will begin immediately. I will tell Kanarn to set course for Ossus immediately.”  
He nodded numbly, realizing the decision he had made. He still fully intended to leave the Order once this was complete. But you couldn’t leave something, without being a part of it. And being part of something, meant he would devote himself fully to it. Was there any way to live, without determination to a set of specific goals?  
He was a Jedi now—in the most minor way possible—and he would honour his compact. But he wondered if such honour would put him in a position where he end up as dead as his home world.


End file.
